Hot Tubs and Friends and Lovers, Slow Tease
by SpockLikesCats
Summary: Relaxation, romance, a whispered word, a chance; a slap in the face, a dance; some thrills, and chills; a doctor who's a pill, carers who've been sad, a man who was a cad; a Vulcan who's a tease, a woman for to please. Or, In a Jacuzzi, add 1 doctor, 1 nurse, 1 Vulcan, 1 beloved, 1 captain, 1 Orion and ... A hot tub and its near-magical effects, with logical options. Please review
1. Chapter 1

Hot Tubs: Slow Tease Part I

**Hot Tubs & Friends & Lovers:** Episode Two, "Slow Tease"

by SpockLikesCats

**Type:** Romance, Humor, Angst.

**Warnings:** sexytimes for one pairing (is that a warning or a promise?) And please see my "Headcanon" below to understand the way I write Chapel/McCoy.

**Rating:** M

**Pairings:** Spock/Uhura; McCoy/Chapel; Kirk/Gaila

**Disclaimer:** I love Star Trek but I don't make any money from it, or from these stories I insist on writing. As far as I know, nothing in this story is based on anyone's work except my own, or of course, the creators of Star Trek, long may they continue!

_**Headcanon:**_ _(1)_ _Christine Chapel is "played" by Christina Hendricks ("Mad Men"). Impressively capable, red-haired, voluptuous, and someone McCoy utterly trusts. And by the way, she was not on board in ST2009 [in my head] – McCoy called out "Chapel" out of habit or desperation; (2) Leonard McCoy is from Georgia (as is traditional, in homage to DeForest Kelley); while he may have attended "Ole Miss," the University of Mississippi, for pre-med, he is from Georgia! (3) McCoy married Joycelyn [sic] and their daughter, Joanna, lives with her. He met Chapel before he met Joy and started seeing Chapel again once he separated from Joycelyn. 4) Gaila lives! After Enterprise's refit at Earth, Starfleet has re-assigned officers who launched escape pods as ordered by their respective ships' captains [as in the Kelvin incident] to escape Nero._

**Part One**

**Commander Spock** had arranged everything to his satisfaction. He and Lieutenant Uhura would dine at the small restaurant on the Starboard Observation Deck at 1930 hours. After a long period for conversation, they would then report to the Fitness suite to use the hot tub, an activity in which he took pleasure mostly for the whirlpool's heat.

Prolonged immersion in water held little appeal, but Nyota enjoyed it greatly, for reasons Spock did not find objectionable, so he took part. A relaxed partner was a contented partner, and that his _ashayam_ be contented was a goal Spock found logical – and desirable – to fulfill.

A few weeks before, they had trysted in the Jacuzzi, but were interrupted by others, forcing them to forgo an attempt at a potentially embarrassing (on Nyota's part) activity. Spock did not embarrass easily, if at all. He simply completed his duties and performed scientific experiments with the highest proficiency and lived his life as he saw fit, and if others questioned his private decisions, he owed explanations only to Captain Kirk. Not to Dr. McCoy, no matter what the physician seemed to think.

**Leonard McCoy** sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He was finding it hard to get through today with so many patients suffering the indignities of Gnallifian intestinal worms. _All_ of them begged him not to tell anyone else; _all_ of them itched in places people shouldn't scratch; inevitably they _did_ scratch and new eggs would hatch and the itching and embarrassment and lamentations of the patients would annoy other patients and themselves, and McCoy was getting tired of it.

"I itch, Doc, and I can't sleep. I think I'm bleeding down there." Ensign Mattox's tenor whine bored through Sickbay. Sammy Mattox was from central Florida. Everybody assumed that he and McCoy would be friendly since both men were from the Southeast United States, but they were wrong. McCoy couldn't stand Mattox, always running in to Sickbay every time he stubbed his damn toe or got a blister and twanging his loud voice everywhere. Plus McCoy thought Mattox had a thing for Nurse Chapel.

"Quit whining, Mattox," McCoy snapped. "I've treated little kids who were better patients than you."

"Can't you give me something so I could sleep?"

McCoy quickly charged a hypo and brought it over to the man's bedside. "Nothing would please me more," he said with a leer, "But the fact is, a shot of this stuff will make your throat hurt like hell when you wake up. Still want it?"

"If it'll help me sleep, oh yeah."

_With any luck, his throat'll be so sore when he comes to, that he won't want to talk._

**Nurse Christine Chapel** was tired and feeling rather temperamental. The two often went together, but she always managed to hide her temper when patients were present. Yes; like McCoy, she took it out on … well, him, as he sometimes did her.

These moods never engendered serious disagreements between them, certainly not in front of other staff or patients, although occasionally McCoy's raised voice could be heard from his office, followed by acute remarks from Chapel, who was quite good at sharpening a verbal arrow right before she aimed it at his ego, his grumpiness, or other deficiency. She was more of an observer and analyzer but occasionally he just "got on her last nerve," as her Nana used to say.

The recent outbreak of Gnallifian intestinal worms was not only disgusting, but the patients complained a lot; their discomfort and mostly their inability to be on the job irritated them. (Starfleet had very few idlers in its ranks; such people were passed over for promotion and soon discharged.)

"Doctor, I dinna' think I can take any more o' this," Engineer Scott said loudly. "D'ye not think a few shots o' whisky might cure my ills? Surely it'd kill the wee basta— er, beasties."

"Except for my office, alcohol is strictly off-limits in my Sickbay," McCoy sounded reasonable enough, but Chapel could detect a little edge in his tone.

Scotty was miserable and irritable. "Then let me step inta' yer office for a few minutes, ye glaikit lout!"

"Well you'd have to get some whisky first, wouldn't you," McCoy said nastily.

"Ye canna spare me some o' that bourbon ye're so fond of?"

"Well since you pronounced the taste –" McCoy rendered a perfect Scots accent on the following words, " – _absolute shite_ –" I wouldn't waste it on you, and besides, it won't have any effect other than making the present generation of worms produce more eggs, in their twisted means of survival." The doctor's eyes bugged out in a scary glare and Scotty sighed.

"Ehh, the cure's almost worse than the disease."

"Well you shouldn't have eaten food from a street vendor's cart then, should you?" McCoy snapped. "I warned you people before you departed on shore leave, but would you listen to your Chief Medical Officer? No-o-o-o! You listened to the damned holo-guides!"

Scotty pointed to the decoction of Gnallifian herbs. He had to drink a deciliter every two hours. "I wish ta hell I hadn't. I think ye made this stuff nasty and evil tasting on _purpose_."

"Well if I had – and I didn't – it'll help teach you the lesson I failed to teach all y'all before, won't it!"

Christine intervened. "Doctor, a moment please?"

"Yeah, _what_."

She angled her head toward his office and preceded him in. He loved walking behind her; he had told her so years ago – when he was a resident doctor and she was a nurse at UC Berkeley Medical Center – and she never forgot it, even in professional circumstances – especially those in which McCoy needed distraction to get out of a _mood_. Chapel knew well that she had a lovely figure and a walk to match.

Once inside, she turned and looked steadily at him, pursing her lips, crossing her arms, and tilting her hips as she leaned on his desk. Disconcerting her opponents was only one of her skills and she deployed it extremely well. "What was that about, Doctor? You know it's not part of your job to be nasty to your patients."

"Yes. I do know," he snapped. "I just hate having to listen to them whine over such a minor thing caused by their own stupidity. They're not dyin' for crissakes."

Chapel put her hands on her hips, raised an eyebrow, and said, "Well, snap out of it. The orderlies hate dealing with this stuff and I have to help them deal with it as much as I do the patients. What's _your_ problem?"

A pause.

"… Len, I'm asking you a question …"

McCoy had drifted back in time … to UC Berkeley, his first year as a resident physician ….

~/\~ **He first notices her** striding –in a very womanly way – up the walkway to the hospital at the university's Medical Center. He's never seen an "hourglass figure" before, but he's seeing one now, and wow, what a figure it is. Rounded, womanly: generous hips, small waist, gorgeous bosom … when she goes by and smiles at him, he thinks she has the face of an angel. An angel who knows exactly what he's thinking, and is serene in spite of it.

Her porcelain complexion is radiant with good health and her lips are full; he can imagine kissing them softly, then deeply; her red hair is looped up in a practical yet lovely way, and he thinks of taking it out of its pins and letting it flow over his tired, tired hands. And her eyes – oh Lord – blue as a Georgia sky on a cool, clear day. Her mouth curves up in a secret, womanly smile as she passes him, and he almost turns to follow her and get her name, but he's been awake for 28 hours sterilizing and sealing wounds. In the late morning yesterday a massive shuttle accident brought dozens of patients with deep lacerations, punctures and internal injuries into the Medical Center's ER, where McCoy is doing a year as a surgical resident. He goes to his crappy little apartment, doffs his clothes, takes a shower, and sits on the bed, and before he knows it he's flat out, comatose in sleep.

She's a post-grad in Exobiology, he learns from the other students, and has the unlikely name of Chapel. "Unlikely" because the talk he hears from the guys and gay women is not exactly holy in nature. "The Red Fox," "Curvy Confection" and "Double Delight" are some of the many sobriquets laded on, and she sails by them all like a ship of state, with that celestial, inscrutable smile.

They get to know each other in the hospital cafeteria and later begin haunting Berkeley cafés, discussing medical science, and McCoy notices that she is, for all her physical assets, demure. She is not "free and easy," and he regrets that a little, but has come to care for her as a good friend. Sex, while a very attractive prospect, does not dominate his thoughts when they are together. What dominates his thoughts are, well, thoughts, to answer her challenges with – what to ask her about nursing – sharing the latest story about Dr. Rogers, who's funnier the wearier he gets – launching another discussion of medical ethics – maybe asking her if she might want to go to Savannah and visit his family, because Momma's not doing so well – and Christine's mere presence would cheer both Momma and his old man up. Plus they could visit Tybee Island and enjoy an afternoon at the warm, sunny beach, a contrast to the cool, foggy coast outside of San Francisco.

Several months into their friendship, after he's had a blood-soaked, adrenaline-pumping night in the Emergency Room, under the supervision of the stupidest Attending in the hospital, he spots Christine sipping coffee at a streetside table at the café on the way to his favorite bar.

"Len! You look like hell," she says.

"Oh, God, you have no idea. I feel even worse. We lost three kids tonight." He is so tired he is shaking, from adrenaline withdrawal, and low blood sugar; he hasn't eaten in ten hours. _Must be why I was craving alcohol._

"Okay, you're coming with me," she says, and before they leave she has ordered a hot cocoa to go, and makes him drink it en route. It gives him just enough energy to get through the transport to Alameda. At her bayside apartment, she helps him to the sofa, kisses him on the forehead, and heads off to cook as he dozes.

He hears her moving around in her tiny kitchen. He drops off deeply for a few minutes but it's just enough.

The sofa cushion moves slightly as she sits, waking him. She hands him a plate loaded with scrambled eggs, soft, the way he likes them, cheese grits, vegetarian bacon and raisin toast, a very satisfying meal. "Here's some orange juice. No coffee for you," she says. "Eat."

And he does, rapidly – he's starving – he slows down at last, enough to take a long look at her. She is sipping roobios tea, bare feet up on the coffee table. Even her feet are lovely.

"Hey," he says, in a low voice, a tentative advance.

She puts down her tea and turns to him, her slight smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Hey, yourself."

He holds up the plate. "Thanks for this ..."

Their eyes meet for a long moment and her pupils enlarge. He almost stammers, but gets the words out, still in his low voice, thank God. "This may not be … Christine, I just wanna tell you, I think you are the brightest, kindest, most beautiful woman, inside and out, I've ever met. Besides my momma."

He watches her for a suspended minute, and her hand floats up to stroke his cheek. She kisses him softly on his mouth. "Come to bed," she says.

It is the sweetest night of his life so far.

So they're good friends and very happy lovers for a couple of months and McCoy is about to tell her how much his parents enjoyed meeting Christine on their third quick visit to Savannah last weekend, and how it cheered Momma up … but …

"Len, I have something to tell you," she says one morning over an early breakfast at the diner near campus. His stomach drops. Is she gonna say she's not interested in him anymore as anything but a friend? That they have to get married or she's gonna move on?

"You've heard about the plague on Niobe Six."

"'Course," he says.

"I'm going out there."

"What the hell …? You're an exobiologist, not a doctor!"

She tilts her head and looks at him. "An exobiologist will be quite useful, actually. You would be too." She smiles a little. "Even though you're still a resident. Come with me. Starfleet's assigning some of us temporary duty with Médecins sans Frontières."

He is about to say 'yes' … then he inwardly hears the worried sound of Daddy's voice last week when he spoke of Momma, how he didn't think there was much time left … "How long would we be gone?"

"Probably four months at least. A year maybe."

"I would like to," he says, taking her hands in his. "I really would, but Momma's taken a turn for the worse – I'm going home this weekend to be with her – Daddy and my sisters're worried. I can't go off-planet now – it's out of the question."

Christine's eyes are solemn. "The mission crew can't replace me now. I wish I'd known … I could've stayed to see you through." He tightens his hands around hers and they gaze at each other for a long time.

"Damn," they say at the same time. The rest of that week is Christine's preparations to depart, Len's long hours at the ER, and his calls home. They have a long goodbye, bouts of lovemaking and starlit evening walks on the little beach at Alameda, where they stop, bare feet chilling on the damp sand, clinging to each other as they look across the bay at the gleaming lights of the bridges and Starfleet Academy. There are tears, on both parts. It's a long, bittersweet goodbye because neither knows if they'll ever be able to be together again. ~/\~

**Chapel stirred**, catching his attention. Waving her hand in fact, by his face. "… a question …" she was saying.

_ And the question is, why did I marry Joycelyn instead of waiting for this lady? Joy and me - a casual relationship that went out of control … well, we got Joanna out of it at least, and she's the light of my life, but … _

_ I wish Christine had met me at Riverside like we planned. I might've been sober when I shuttled back to San Fran and moved to the Academy. She'd've reassured me I was right to join Starfleet. I wouldn't have acted like such an idiot if she'd been with me._

_I wouldn't still be so lonesome if Christine and I'd managed to connect. _

Except for a few weeks when she'd been on assignment at Academy Medical working with him, Chapel was on away missions more often than she was around. She and McCoy'd had a couple of really fine weekends, but … they hadn't managed to re-form their previous relationship. Well, that was what happened with dual-career couples, wasn't it.

Chapel's mission to Niobe Six had morphed her love of medical science into a desire for a more "hands-on" profession. Nursing. A PhD exobiologist, she'd joined Starfleet, gotten advanced nursing certifications in various specialty areas, and had been bossing doctors around ever since. After she was promoted to Lieutenant Commander Captain Pike asked her to be Chief Nurse on the _Enterprise_. She hadn't been able to board in time for the Vulcan mission, but had joined the crew afterward, during the ship's refit at Earth.

_ So here we are like two pissed-off peas in a pod._

"Doctor _McCoy,"_ she said in her precise tone, and he blinked, and looked at her, and got irritated with himself. For fantasizing about a time past, a personal relationship that was on the edge of awkward now, and the present lack of a certain intimacy between him and Christine.

"I'm just tired, you don't have to yell at me."

She drew closer to him, fixed him with her blue, blue eyes and said, very quietly, "I was not yelling. It's my job to look after patients, Doctor. As it is yours, and that job is about giving _care_ – in both senses of the word. It's my Sickbay as much as it is yours and if you upset the patients, it takes them longer to get better. Since you know that, I don't feel it's _ordinarily_ necessary to explain it to you."

McCoy leaned against the wall. He knew his own body language pretty well, Chapel thought; he knew she liked his height and lankiness and ease in his body. She appreciated it now, but did not let it distract her.

"They ignored what I said and now I have to put up with their whining? It's worse than annoying. It's disrespectful in the first place, and wearisome in the second."

"Hmm … let's see. Crewmen and officers often disregard the recommendations of medical staff, don't they? Mr. Scott, for example. Sometimes he drinks a bit too much. And I know another officer who drinks a little too much and no matter what, when I bring it up to him, he gets snippy and denies it." She forestalled McCoy's imminent protest with her next words, "and I've been recommending that this same officer take a few days' leave, or do some recreational activities on board. So far he hasn't listened. At all."

"Dammit, Christine, I can't take time off now!" He waved his hand, indicating Sickbay and all the sufferers within.

"This infection is perfectly routine, Doctor, and the herbal decoction will help it … pass … in time. Plenty of our staff are able to deal with it. So I suggest you clear out for a few hours – a shift, even – exercise, work off your frustration and the alcohol you will inevitably drink, then take a hot bath or get a massage. You've been here over fourteen hours. Get some rest," she said in her most businesslike tone. "I mean it."

"Jesus! You've got your nerve, don't you!" he exploded.

She shifted her hips and stared levelly at him. "Yes. Because I know I'm right, and so do you."

She walked over to him, and pointed to the passageway door. He caught a whiff of her soft perfume, she saw; his nostrils flared slightly and he very nearly closed his eyes. "You need a break. Take one."

She didn't have to say it twice. McCoy was irascible to most people, but it didn't work on Chapel. And he didn't like being grumpy to her, because he was still in love with her.

His shoulders relaxed.

"Okay, okay." He shoved away from the wall. "And in a couple of hours, you'll be here far too long yourself, so I hereby order you to report to the Gym and/or Jacuzzi. Got it?"

She smiled. And when she smiled, he smiled; she positively melted him with it and she knew it. And he didn't mind that she knew it. Because he needed her to tell him the truth and be his friend.

"Got it," she said.

**James T. Kirk**, captain of the USS Enterprise, put his head back and let out a long _whoosh_ of air through his lips. The chair at his Ready Room desk was quite comfortable, and he ruffled his hair with both hands to keep from getting drowsy. Always a problem for him in boring Academy lectures – since he'd usually known enough from the reading to ace the tests when the lectures _started_ – drowsiness threatened during certain captainly duties, too.

_I cannot say enough how much I hate administrative paperwork. Especially when it concerns disciplining crewmembers._

_Screw it, I'm the captain. I can assign a "punishment" that fits the crime. So … Ensign Trinh pranked his roommate Jenks before area inspection by putting chocolate pudding in Jenks's bed. I think Trinh can miss his next 24 hours of shore leave to make every ensign's bed ready for inspection. A __few__ in fact. And should the beds fail to pass LT Hendorff's inspection? Trinh gets to do it all over again next shore leave. _

_Whoa, I'm being positively … harsh. I was quite the merry prankster at the Academy myself. Okay, the first eight hours of leave then. No, six. _Kirk initialed the order, sent it to Lcdr Giotto of Security and laid his CO Padd on the desk.

_I could always assign Trinh to do some of __this__ crap for my signature … but he's a redshirt. I'm not really bad at paperwork … especially anything to do with engine specs or operations. But the rest … it goes okay when I focus, but it's not a mental challenge! Administrative and personnel paperwork is so … dull, dull, __dull__. _

_ Sure, Spock would do it, but he might think I asked him to do it because I'm still a cheater, or I want to rub his face in my promotion, or I don't want to face up to all my responsibilities._

Another sigh. Kirk got up and stretched, unkinking his neck and shoulder muscles, then went to stand by the viewport in the small Ready Room.

_It's a hell of a privilege to be in charge of this ship – __this__ ship! – and such a dedicated crew._

_ Not always so sure I'm up to it … no matter how much I wanted it, it was __really__ unfair of Starfleet to promote me over Spock after the … annihilation of Vulcan. It was embarrassing getting command of the Enterprise __plus__ a medal. Just the medal and assignment as Spock's First Officer would have been fine, thanks. _

_ And there was my wonderful introduction to Spock – his bringing me up on charges of cheating – okay, I did cheat, but the Kobayashi Maru is a ridiculous "test" – the "no-win scenario" is bullshit, people win once in a whil e, especially if they come up with a nov el solution …_

_ Mine was about as novel as it gets. Beat the computer program! Way to go, Jim. What a __great__ example of my skills ...! Talk about embarrassing. Although deception __is__ a necessary skill for a starship commander, I hate having been deceitful at Starfleet Academy. _

_ Most of all, I hate the way I used Gaila. Unsportsmanlike, and ungentlemanly._

Kirk knew Uhura had warned Gaila about him back then; Gaila told him so, with the amusement of a woman who knows better. "She doesn't know we have a special connection, Jim." But Uhura had been justifiably dubious. As a communicator, Uhura perceived a lot about people, and she'd been right about him. Regrettably.

And Gaila ….

Gaila had not spoken to Kirk in the months since; on the _Enterprise_'s return to Earth after Nero, she'd been assigned to the flagship, as were many of the hundred or so survivors of Nero's attack on the Starfleet ships at Vulcan. She worked with Scotty in Engineering and he sometimes saw the two of them enjoying drinks in the lounge and talking endlessly about improvements to the ship. He'd nod uncomfortably and Scotty would greet him and Gaila would nod without meeting his eyes.

Kirk was incredibly glad Gaila was alive, but very ashamed of asking her to unknowingly open that subroutine to effect his "solution" to the _Kobayashi Maru_ scenario. He could hardly face her. He'd never even tried to apologize, he was so mortified at himself.

_What the hell can I do? If I give her extra leave days or something it'll raise questions. It'd be insulting to her anyway, it'd look like a pay-off or an inadequate, grandiose apology._

_ I'm a dumbass. It's about time I apologized. Walk up to her and say, "For the next few minutes I am not your CO. I am the guy you dated at the Academy. I want to apologize …" If she slaps me I say again, "I'm sorry," and leave. _

_ Who knows how she'll react, but I, at least, need to be an officer and a gentleman. Huh. I can just hear Bones: "Finally the scapegrace boy is growin' up."_

He watched the stars, and remembered long conversations with Gaila, as they lay on their backs by the Golden Gate. How she loved the stars. They shared that love – from the time Jim had been a kid, he had looked to space for escape from his miserable Earth-bound existence.

To Gaila they symbolized freedom because she hadn't seen them from the time she'd been old enough to have sex until she escaped the slavers. After her escape she had been a consultant to Starfleet, helping them learn about Orion slaver syndicates, customs and civilization. Starfleet tried but could not find any remaining members of her clan. Instead, Starfleet assigned her tutors and offered her more education at Starfleet Academy. She had tested out to be a very talented engineering candidate, and was in the top 5th percentile of every class.

_What an amazing, stubborn, admirable woman. I should never have screwed her over like that. At least Spock didn't include her when he denounced me. He knew it was all my doing._

_ And so did Captain Pike. I disappointed him for the first time that day._

_ I owe it to him, too. To be the best man I can be._

**Spock had a contingency plan**. He was Vulcan. He _always_ had a contingency plan. Nyota's … desire seemed to center around the Jacuzzi in the Fitness Suite, so he decided that was the place to start after dinner. It had amused her on their previous visit, in the sight of McCoy, to trail her fingers up Spock's thigh. To which he had, quite naturally, responded, being unprepared. It had surprised McCoy when Spock left the Jacuzzi with no bathing suit in evidence. McCoy was unacquainted with certain details of Spock's outward appearance. (The CMO had, of course, examined him to establish a baseline – using modern technology, which did not reveal unnecessary information, only anomalies.) And Spock had not yet had injuries that required him to disrobe for treatment. As a Vulcan and a man in superior condition, however, Spock had no inhibitions about nudity.

The Vulcan also had a talent for stealth which few humans shared, and he intended to use it this evening, in service of Nyota's fantasy.

** Gaila slapped Jim Kirk **in the face. Hard. Her beautiful face was tight with anger, and she hissed as she smacked him. Hissed! That was something he didn't know, that Orion women _hissed_. Like the biggest, meanest house cat ever. It sounded threatening …but kinda sexy. _Damn!_

He had worn civilian clothes so his uniform and rank wouldn't be a factor as he apologized, but he had – he thought – put the odds slightly in his favor by wearing the "polar blue" sweater she'd given him at the Academy "because it matches your eyes."

"I'm sorry," Kirk said again. He started to leave, but Gaila grabbed his wrist.

"You _wait_," she commanded. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. "Uhura said I should slap your face, that you'd remember it because it was physical. That you deserved it for what you did. And I agree, you did. Commander Spock didn't write me up, thank goodness. But you! You … you played me for a – a sucker. A _sap_," she finished. "I heard that in an old holo, and it fits."

Blushing, Jim lowered his eyes. Gaila was genuinely a nice person, and he had always liked her. "Of course it was my fault. I should never have asked you to open my message that afternoon. I disrespected you and I abused your trust. I'm really, _really_ sorry."

She reached up a hand and cupped his chin briefly. "You can apologize to me all night," she said in a strange tone.

Jim waited. Sarcasm was next. _You can apologize to me all night and it won't make any difference_, was what he expected. There was a long pause.

"… What," Gaila said.

He blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Did I say it wrong?"

"I … I don't know. Did you?" Jim was perplexed.

"Okay," she said, a finger to one of her curls, winding it around her fingertip, "I saw this couple last week on shore leave, and he had done something wrong, and his girlfriend was angry with him, and he said he was sorry and he kissed her to make up, and she said, 'You can apologize to me all night.'" Gaila paused. She had no idea how charming her naïveté was. "I guess I did get it wrong … or you did."

"Umm … I did … yeah." Kirk sensed a light ahead in his path.

Gaila put her face up to be kissed.

Jim looked around. They were alone in the passageway. He kissed her.

"Don't you ever play me for a sap again," she said quietly, and kissed him back.

**Nyota Uhura **took off her uniform. It had been a long day. The current crop of Academy graduates assigned to the _Enterprise _– admittedly, only three Communications specialists were among them – seemed, well, not as dedicated as she was. Bending over to remove her boots, she heard a beloved voice from in back of her. "But you are exceptional, Nyota." Spock had silently come close and she could feel his hips, his heat, at her behind. Though clothed, he was slightly aroused.

"Mmm," she said, relaxing and straightening up to lean back on him, moving the crown of her head under his chin so he could smell her hair.

His warm hands slipped around her ribs from behind and his hands slipped up under her bra, cupping her breasts, then kneaded her nipples with gentle fingertips. Her pelvic muscles tightened with desire and she heard a raspy whisper in her ear. "You mentioned you might like a surprise, _ashayam_. Will this evening be suitable?"

"Yes," she breathed.

"We will need to be suitably prepared and dressed for the occasion."

"I'm ready."

"No … not yet," he told her. He took off her bra and turned her around. He was not clothed above the waist, and her breasts rubbed across his lower chest hair. Their eyes met and held; his looked big and black. He leaned down to kiss her throat, and nuzzled her collarbones, and further down. She smelled the usual delightful spicy scent from his hair and bussed the top of his head, stroking his cheek as he tongued the tips of her breasts. Her knees were about to buckle, so she raised up his head to kiss his mouth. He stood and responded quite passionately, the tip of his tongue exciting her own, his hands falling to her rear, pushing her panties down, and she felt one of his hands at her front, two fingers moving to part her pubic hair.

"Mmm," she said again. His support enabled her to move her trembling legs apart so he could have better access. Her panties were around her thighs, but so what, they stretched. She smiled into his mouth, pushing her pubis against his hand; his fingers, inside her, moved out, and he took the hint, massaging her clit; fingers, thumb, gentle, firm, quick, then …

He broke the kiss. She unfastened his trousers and slipped them down. "A bit fast," she murmured, "but I like it." She took his not-quite-erect _lok_ in her hand and aimed it gently down to a mutually pleasing position. She tipped her pelvis up, down, up, down, the soft skin and firmness of him massaging her …

His hands were under her rear, lifting her onto him; he entered her and she rode his hips, ankles locking behind him, and he took her over to the bed, disengaging and laying her on her back. She frowned in puzzlement, but went with it. A surprise … he brought a small bottle from the floor at the foot of the bed, took some liquid into his mouth and descended, parting her legs with his hands, to lick her sex, a delicious warmth descending from his mouth … it tingled and it felt wonderful.

He pulled her toward the foot of the bed, angled her up, positioned his _lok_ and slipped into her center and out, in and out, making a little rumble of satisfaction. Her hands covered his on her bent knees, and sighing, she ran her fingers up to the hair on his arms and back to his hands as he moved in her.

Then he pulled out. And stepped away.

"Hey!" she protested.

He tilted his head, his eyes in contented slits, and opened the closet. "We can dress now, and begin our evening."

"Spock, that is not fair! You're – you're being a tease!" she said with frustration. She moved her hand to caress herself … to forestall her imminent action, he took up her hand and kissed her fingers. Despite stopping her in the moment, he looked as if he might enjoy watching her pleasure herself at some time later on, she noted.

"Nyota. Be patient."

_Ohhh…_, she thought. He brought some clothes to her, but no underthings – there was a white swimsuit, with gold buttons down each side and a modest front. The back was deeply scooped. The long-sleeved dress was dark teal and except for a satin collar and cuffs, it was sheer on top, with two sheer layers in the skirt.

It fell nearly to her ankles, nipped and crossed at the waist, fastened with two gold buttons.

She put on the suit and Spock buttoned the sides for her. She noticed his fingers were not quite steady. The dress slipped on easily. She looked at her reflection in the viewport. "It's lovely, _mpenzi."_

Spock, now wearing a dark blue silk tunic and slim black trousers, stood behind her, putting his arms around her and kissing the nape of her neck. "As are you, my Nyota."


	2. Chapter 2

Hot Tubs: Slow Tease Part II

**Part II**

**Jim ordered** a picnic for two on the Forward Observation Deck, the compartment of it that was right at the bow. He liked it here, the sensation of movement toward something; in warped space the stars appeared to gather in a mass ahead of the ship. He sensed Gaila would enjoy it. He was pretty sure he'd ordered the foods she liked, too.

She came into the compartment dressed in … a _cloak_, for some reason he couldn't quite figure out.

"Jim," she said, coming closer, "I really missed 'us' – I've missed being with you. I knew I had to let you squirm for a while, but you didn't say anything to me for so long, I wasn't even sure you were even sorry for what you did. Or if you were happy I got assigned here after surviving Nero or not, because all you said to me was 'Welcome aboard, Lieutenant.' You did kind of smile at me like you were relieved I was alive. But you looked away so quickly."

He moved to stand by her – her voice sounded a bit tearful.

"I was so ashamed I couldn't even imagine how to tell you I was sorry." He raised his hand to her face and gently wiped away a tear. "I couldn't face you."

"So why did you apologize today?"

"I missed you too, and I finally thought about _your_ feelings. So I finally manned up."

There was a long silence as she slipped her arms around him.

"I'm glad you did." She reached up a hand to pet his unruly hair, which she had always loved. "I want to give you a gift," she said. "… Music!"

For a moment he was puzzled, but she gave him a playful little shove, and he sat down on the floor obediently.

Traditional Orion music skirled through the air. Gaila shucked her cloak. Her beautiful silvery dance costume consisted of a shimmering low-cut bra and diaphanous skirt whose top slanted right to left from just below her waist to her left hip, baring her left leg from hip to toe. Jim watched happily as she began to dance and appreciated the sight of her: red hair shining under the lights above, pretty blue eyes accenting her green skin; her rounded breasts, her slender, fit limbs, curved waist and softly muscled belly.

Kirk had never seen her dance like this. He was stunned by her beauty and her talent. She brought the music to life with sinuous and lovely movements. This was an honor, and a real treat. He nodded respectfully and watched his friend with delight. His girlfriend, maybe even.

**The starboard dining room** was dark, lit only by small lanterns on each linen-covered table. Uhura looked around; oddly, no one else was present. Spock escorted her to a table right by the viewport where appetizers were already set out, some on ice.

Instead of sitting across from her, Spock sat at ninety degrees to her. "May I?" he said, picking up a small broccoli floret, dipping it in pesto with pepper and parmesan, and holding it in front of her mouth. Smiling at him, she took it in and chewed happily, but decorously, watching Spock enjoy a floret of his own. The broccoli was perfect, chilled and crisp. He dipped a small piece of crusty, flavorful bread, offered it to her, and she ate it while he poured a robust red wine. He gave her the glass and raised one of his own, and toasted her: "To Nyota Uhura, the worthiest and loveliest woman I have ever encountered."

She blushed. This was new, the feeding and the toasting, and she had to admit, though it was uncharacteristic of him, it was very romantic, and she was really enjoying it. "I cherish thee, _habibu_," she whispered, touching her glass to his.

"As I cherish thee," Spock replied, in Vulcan, his eyes intense upon her as he touched his glass to hers. There was a pleasant _ting_ of crystal. They drank the small carafe of wine, nibbling appetizers, reminiscing about their first meeting in Spock's linguistics class. And about their first "collision" – Spock's expression was warm as he recalled his reaction to her challenge of him, her intellect and confidence, so unusual in a fourth/class cadet. Such reminiscing was also a bit uncharacteristic, but what he told her only increased her feelings of warmth and regard.

"The first time I ever thought of you in any but a professional way was the day I saw you on the deck outside the gymnasium, getting into the whirlpool."

Her eyes widened and she laughed a little. "Ahh, sexual attraction."

He shook his head solemnly. "Not merely. A desire to know more about you than your excellent performance as a student of language and interspecies communication. A desire to hold you … and protect you, even though I knew you to be fiercely independent." He continued, "you wore a white Academy-issue swimsuit and looked more beautiful than I had ever seen you."

"My hair was getting frizzy and that suit … really!"

He raised his eyebrows with a quelling "teacher" look and went on, "and as you stepped up the stairs to the whirlpool, I imagined touching your bare legs. When you began talking – and laughing – with Dr. McCoy I thought you would be unapproachable, and left. I had never … felt … disappointed in that way."

She took a moment to absorb the thought of Spock – in an Academy public space – fantasizing about her, and feeling such disappointment.

She reached out with a finger and stroked his cheek. "When you turned away, I felt sad too. I thought we could never be together because you were so strict about regulations. You used to gig cadets who were thirty seconds late to class! And assign extra watches if they were late submitting papers. I wasn't sure what I was getting into when you invited me to be your Teaching Assistant."

"You have never given me reason to find fault," he said, "In any way, at any time."

"After a while as your TA …" she smiled gently, "I began to think my fantasies might just come true."

His eyes, as he studied her, almost twinkled; his left eye narrowed slightly – a prelude to the smile at the corner of his mouth.

Dinner was delicious, pasta in virgin olive oil with rosemary, toasted pine nuts and gorgonzola cheese, with more of the red wine. Vulcan or no, Spock had excellent taste; Uhura always thought this was a result of his being a diplomat's son. And a result of observation and study ….

Inwardly she grinned, then shrugged. _I am the beneficiary, after all._

**McCoy sank into** the hot tub with a groan of happiness. He had punched the hell out of the speed bag, worked up a good sweat, done some yoga stretches, taken a sonic shower, and slouched over here with a bottle of wine and two glasses, just in case Christine followed his advice and showed up. "Oh, Lord …, thank you Mr. Jacuzzi," he said aloud.

No one was in this part of the Fitness Suite. One third of the crew was in Sickbay or on bed rest in their quarters, one third was on duty, and one third was, presumably, sleeping.

He poured himself a glass of wine, one Christine had always liked, from the Sonoma Valley in Northern California. Deep red. Wasn't bourbon or whisky but it tasted ju-u-st fine.

He leaned his head back on the ledge around the top of the tub, and the bubbles and the heat informed his body that it was good to be alive, alive and without Gnallifian intestinal worms.

He raised his glass, raised his head, and toasted Christine in absentia. "Thank you for giving me an ass-kickin' to get me down here."

McCoy took another generous sip, put the glass aside, and sank into the hot water up to his neck. This ancient method of relaxation had not faded with time, thank God.

The lights dimmed. He blinked, and looked up. They continued dimming until the overhead was a deep sapphire blue. Then the "stars" came out, and they looked just like the stars at home. Was that the sound of surf? And night birds, _ch-uh-uh-uck, ch-uh-uh-uck-ing_? And a scent of salty air? For a second he nearly panicked, fearing hallucinations, then he remembered the environmental design in every relaxation space on the ship –_whew_ – the swimming pool, the hot tub, several of the Observation Deck spaces, the small "amphitheatre" and the formal Dining Room – had the capacity to deepen the color of the overhead to the evening hue of your home planet and region, and was programmed to reproduce the stars over your favorite place. It could simulate sunlight too. Sounds and scents, according to the time of day requested, were in the program too. All you had to do was enter your name.

"Hey, Christine," he called out, Southern-fashion.

"Hey," she answered, strolling to the hot tub. She wore just the right kind of bathing suit: with her figure, a lot of display below was not necessary. She looked fantastic in an emerald suit with a low neckline. It didn't match the sky, or her eyes. But it looked real nice with her pale skin and red hair.

"You are a sight for sore eyes," McCoy said, straightening up so he could reach the wine.

"And I was going to say, you look a little less 'sore' than when you left Sickbay."

"Damn straight." He grinned at her, taking up the bottle of wine and the empty glass, raising them in inquiry.

She grinned, sinking slowly into the water with a sigh and glancing at the glass. "Damn straight, Len," she agreed. He poured. They toasted each other, and sipped wine, and chatted about whatever crossed their minds, relaxing together for the first time since reporting aboard the _Enterprise_.

Christine remembered his first words to her when she reported to Sickbay. _"What are __you__ doing here?"_

She was beginning to think the same words, but in a very different way, and she had a very different answer, too.

"**Ow, ow, ow!"** Gaila said, trying to stand up. "_Nharts!"_ (An Orion curse? Jim supposed it might be. She never cursed in Standard, though.) Gaila was bent over, her face scrunched up with pain. Kirk stood to pick her up. She felt perfect in his arms, except she was holding her left leg rigid. He brought her over to the bench under the viewport, laying her across his lap.

"Where does it hurt?"

"My leg, my lower left leg and foot. Owwww!"

He was supporting her back with his left arm, gently exploring her left calf with his other hand. "Wow, you've got a hellacious knot in your muscle. And your foot feels stiff in the arch. How'd you do that?"

"Dancing, you fool," she snapped, and immediately said, "Sorry. I did a few moves I didn't warm up for. Darn it!"

"Do you want me to try and massage it?"

She bit her lip and nodded. He rubbed and flexed her foot first. It began to relax, but couldn't rotate fully because of the cramp in her calf. He stroked her calf muscles in large circles, then smaller circles, then gently massaged her leg and the muscle began to unkink, but after fifteen minutes or so, it remained stiff, and Gaila was still wincing.

"How about we go to Sickbay," he suggested.

Her eyes got big. "No! They're all miserable down there. I visited Charlene Masters today, and she _whined _the whole time. Charlene has _never_ whined! That disease is awful – and gross. I got all the details, yecch. She went on about it for a quarter of an hour. So did Scotty – _nobody_ can complain like he can. They are _so_ annoyed being stuck there. They just want to get back to work. Everybody down there does, and they have to drink this horrible smelly green concoction."

"Well, it's the only way to get rid of the worms," Kirk pointed out.

"Oh my goodness, Jim, it was just a chorus of misery, her and Scotty, Sulu and Chekov and Hannity and Gupta. I couldn't stand any more. And the smell! Ugh."

"The whole Sickbay doesn't smell like that, you know."

"I know, but I don't want them to see me and start complaining to me again. You know I can't _not_ listen. I'm too sympathetic. Normally. What stupids they were, ignoring Dr. McCoy's warning about the street vendors! So no, I don't want to go to Sickbay, I really don't. Can't somebody come here and help me?"

"No, I don't think so … Bones doesn't believe in house calls except for deathly emergencies."

She made a face, acknowledging this truth.

Jim's expression brightened and Gaila gazed hopefully into his eyes.

"We'll go to the gym, the hot tub might help."

She half closed her eyes and smiled. "It might! Let's go."

**Uhura closed her eyes** in sensual pleasure. Her lips closed around the spoonful of dark chocolate mousse. Then, on a devilish impulse, she turned the spoon slightly, the bittersweet taste caressing her tongue, and – gazing at Spock – licked the mousse out of it, showing him her … technique.

Wait, was that his _foot_ stroking up the outside of her leg? She narrowed her eyes at him, smiling. His expression was imperturbable.

Just then he put a spoonful of mousse in his mouth, looking sidelong at her, and slowly, slowly, pulled out the spoon.

**Christine Chapel** finished the last of her second glass of wine and noticed Len seemed pretty tired – shoulders propped against the top edge of the hot tub, his head relaxed backward in a prelude to sleep. "Hey," she said urgently. He shook his head as he brought it up and apologized.

"Whew – fourteen hours on duty and half a bottle of wine …" he said, blinking. "May not have been the smartest thing I ever—" and paused. "Oh, my."

Christine, who'd been watching him, followed his gaze, and saw Jim Kirk, bearing lovely green Gaila in his arms, coming toward the Jacuzzi. He settled her on the edge of the pool so she could soak her legs in the hot water. She gathered up her sheer silver skirt, plunging her left leg into the water, and sighed with relief. "That … feels … so-o-o good, Jim. Thanks."

She peeled off the skirt and tossed it away from the hot tub; under it she wore a thong, green to match her skin and maintain some decency beneath the sheer skirt. Gaila sank quickly into the water, the bra of her dance costume glimmering beneath the surface.

**Kirk went into** a booth, got bathing trunks from the clothing processor, put them on and went out to join his friends. As he walked toward the Jacuzzi he watched the two beautiful redheads – Gaila, her wavy auburn hair trailing into the water, curling into wet spirals, and Nurse Chapel, her titian hair wound up in the back, curling at the front.

Bones, his damp dark hair sticking out in all directions – McCoy had more cowlicks than Jim had ever seen on any living being – looked languid without benefit of bourbon. Jim suddenly realized how _tight_ Bones was often wound; like Jim and Spock, he had the care of the crew on his shoulders all the time, but used poor coping mechanisms_._ Kirk made a mental note to _order_ Bones to take a couple of hours off daily, outside sleep time – barring shipwide emergencies – so he could do more than drink and sleep. Maybe McCoy was curmudgeonly because he was always taut as a string about to break and taking a few snorts of booze was the only way he let himself relax.

Kirk stepped into the hot tub and felt his own muscles loosening after carrying Gaila down here, worrying the whole time that someone might see them. (No one had, _mirabile dictu_.) But at least, Jim thought, muscle tension was a rare thing for him – he generally took good care to exercise, stretch, and keep his body limber.

At the Academy Captain Pike had taught him that by example. Maybe instead of ordering McCoy to take a couple of hours off after work, Kirk could ask him to … _yeah! I'll tell him I need help with a new exercise program to maximize my coping skills. Of course he'll have to take part, right? _

But this evening, he'd pursue his individual program of relaxation by showing appreciation for Gaila. He made his way to her side.

When her hand closed over the top of his knee, he figured she might be doing the same thing for him.

**So what happened** to your leg?" asked Dr. McCoy. If he'd worn glasses, Gaila thought, he'd be looking over them at her. Nurse Chapel looked interested and friendly. When Gaila had gone to Sickbay on her afternoon visit, Chapel had been all business, wearing a rather stoic expression. _You'd have to, wouldn't you, to cope with that smell._ Gaila wasn't sure if the smell emanated from the herbal decoction the patients had to drink, or from … _blugh_ … the worms, but she wasn't about to ask.

"I didn't stretch well enough before I danced. My leg cramped up something awful – my muscles knotted!"

"Where did you dance?" asked Chapel. "I would love to have seen you. I've never seen an Orion dance performance."

Gaila bit her lip. "It was a … sort of … private performance."

"So Bones, how's the Gnallifian … thing going?" Kirk asked, rolling one shoulder and easing his neck. Nurse Chapel looked amused for a second, as if to say, _Good diversion there, Captain._

McCoy's right eyebrow ascended – he was about to answer acerbically – and Chapel quickly said, "It's going about as well as we can expect, Captain. Your officers really hate being away from work. And Doctor McCoy needs to spend a little less time listening to them complain. He needs more rest."

To prevent her from seeing McCoy's expression at this last, Kirk said, "Please, call me Jim."

"Jim, then. My first name is Christine," she told him.

"I kno—" Jim caught a thunderous, _don't you dare_ look from Bones. "I noticed," he amended. "I was reviewing the crew manifest recently. It's a pretty name, Christine Chapel."

"Thanks," she smiled.

"Charlene and Scotty _hate_ drinking that herbal stuff," Gaila said before thinking, but Chapel's eyes crinkled at the corners and she let out a laugh.

"Everybody hates drinking it. But it's the only thing that'll kill the … that'll fix the problem. We could spend a few hours isolating the essential elements and formulating an up-to-date cure for the condition, but Le—Dr. McCoy won't hear of it."

"By the time we did that, the herbal stuff will have gotten them better. In about six hours, Scotty and Masters should be back in their quarters for one more shift of bed rest. And too bad if they don't like it. A little suffering is good for the soul – _especially_ the souls who didn't listen to their CMO before they went on shore leave." He narrowed his eyes and smirked evilly.

Jim laughed. "Man, you've got a mean streak! I think you're more pissed that they didn't listen to you than that one-third of the crew is down with worms."

"Yecch," said Gaila, shivering. "I'm glad I went shopping instead. They were saying the food tasted great, and three hours later they all had to run to the head."

"'Run' being the operative word, from what I hear." Jim grinned. "I was lucky, I went to a restaurant. Cupcake knew this great place."

"You still call him that?" Gaila wondered at it. Hendorff was a nice guy, but after a few beers, he wasn't always, not when he got mad about something. He'd gotten mad at Kirk in the Shipyard Bar four years ago because Jim had put the moves on Uhura. Not to mention his paws.

"He's sort of gotten used to it," Jim smiled. "I like it as a nickname for him, and I'm the captain …"

"That's _not_ nice!" Gaila frowned at him.

"… and he said he's fine with it if I don't call him that in front of other people." Jim looked at her reassuringly.

Chapel rolled her eyes. "You're a pair. You two and your _ju-jitsu_ practice. How many times has one of you needed shoulder repair?"

McCoy held up a hand, indicating with his fingers. "Hendorff, three. Jim, four." He arched his eyebrow at Kirk. "Guess his scoring more hits than you hasn't taught you anything, huh."

Kirk grinned. "I have to test myself, Bones. Gotta practice to get better."

McCoy rolled his eyes and ended with a glare at Jim. "Know what, Captain? Nurse Chapel and I have better things to do with our time."

Kirk raised his eyebrows, baby blues twinkling, and said "Oh really? "

Something caught Gaila's eye. "Hi, Yoo-hoo," she sang out. "I love your dress!"

**Uhura looked up**, startled, and waved at Gaila. She had somehow thought she and Spock would be alone. She looked at him in consternation, but he walked forward to the changing booth. She followed him in. He was already doffing his tunic.

"Weren't we going to be …" she began. Spock leaned forward and slowly kissed her lips. He pulled back and gazed into her eyes; sometimes those eyes of his almost hypnotized her …

Spock was saying, in the sexy, raspy range of his voice, "Surely we may partake of a communal soak for a short time."

Uhura nodded, slipping her arms up around his shoulders, flattening her palms on his warm skin and sliding them up to the back of his head. She pulled him into another kiss, a slippery, deep one, and saw his eyes close. They opened as she tipped her head back with a crooked smile. "I'm game if you are."

He reached, stroking her collarbone with the backs of his fingers, tracing downward to unbutton her dress, his eyes beginning to twinkle. He fetched something out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thank you … I forgot to bring one," she said, winding up her hair into a bun and securing it with the rounded holder. Spock hung her dress up and took off his boots, trousers and underwear. Nyota appreciated his nude form as he stepped over to the processor to order and don swim briefs. He saw her watching him and raised his eyebrow. "You did express a wish recently—"

"Ahhh," she said, with the air of a conspirator, took off her high-heeled sandals, and preceded him out.

"**Why do you** call her Yoo-hoo?" Christine asked Gaila as Spock descended into the hot tub, turning to lift Uhura down. That was gallant, Gaila thought, but Uhura seemed oddly pleased about it. She was usually quite independent. They settled down across from Gaila and Jim, nodding to everyone in greeting. Dr. McCoy was studying Commander Spock.

"It started as a silly joke I made when she was helping me refine my Standard. Remember, 'Yo?"

Nyota nodded with an abstract smile.

"She was telling me colloquial expressions …" There was an _undercurrent_ from Spock and Uhura's direction that almost distracted her … "She told me the one, 'yoo-hoo,' that some people say when they're trying to get someone's attention … and because she was studying communications, I joked that she wanted to say 'yoo-hoo' to everyone in space … then I realized those were sort of the first two syllables of her name, so …"

"…You never let her hear the end of it," Kirk smiled.

Chapel grinned. "It's cute though! Uhura, do you like that nickname?"

Gaila looked at Nyota, concerned. She hadn't ever really asked Uhura if she liked it or not! Yo was usually so kind; had she been hiding her dislike of it? "Do you?"

Uhura's face looked distracted. "It's … it's a nice reminder of our early friendship," she said, then smiled.

**Spock, sitting** to her right, had stealthily put his left hand on Nyota's knee, his expression inscrutable. She was watching the others, but from the corner of her eye, she tuned in to Spock's face. His hand caressed her thigh, up from her knee to her hipbone (his eyelids lowered, for just a second), down to her knee, up the outer thigh to the curve of her hip, down again to the inside of her knee (his mouth began its tiny, tiny smile), up to – _Yow_, she thought, trying to keep a straight face. His fingertips ghosted over her loins to the buttons on the lower right seam of the suit. His fingers weren't trembling now; they were steady as they unbuttoned the seam on "his" side.

The overhead was deep blue and lit with "stars" and Uhura could almost believe they were on the beach at Mombasa, except for the pattern of the lights in the sky. The underwater lights in the Jacuzzi subtly highlighted everyone's faces, but because of the fizzing, foaming water and the steam rising from it, nothing much was visible below the surface. She felt Spock's hand slip between the front of her suit and her lower belly. And fingers slipping into places where they had no business while she and Spock were in the presence of others, but tonight was special, and she decided to, er, open herself to possibilities. Though conversation was going to be decidedly difficult, she felt it was only fair. She _had_ somewhat intimately touched Spock the last time they'd been in here, unbeknownst to Jim and Len, who'd been with them.

_Ahhhhh …. _There was nothing like Spock's delicacy of touch. He was a master. She had to keep her eyes from closing in pleasure.

**It wasn't just** an undercurrent now, Gaila realized. Pheromones were wafting through the air. She turned to Jim so she wouldn't be watching Spock and Nyota. She didn't want to give them away! She took joy in the idea that Uhura was open to doing this sort of thing, actually.

At the Academy Uhura had always been sweet – when she wasn't all business – and took time with friends at meals, listening to the details of their lives, heartaches and study troubles, joking and laughing with them too … but in classes, watches and study hours, she'd been strict in her attention to detail and military custom and studies and oh … _everything! _

Gaila had learned a lot from Uhura about professional demeanor but loved getting her roommate off Academy grounds to relax: hiking, shopping or going out in groups to dance, eat or drink. Uhura was a lot of fun when she relaxed. But once she and Spock had discovered each other … whew. Uhura still had "fun," but not often with her classmates. Gaila had thought it was too bad, because she figured Uhura and Spock must always be so intellectual and … intense with each other. Not a lot of fun. Now, smiling into Jim's face, Gaila knew otherwise, and was glad.

"What?" said Jim. Gaila squeezed his hand under the water. Then she did something else, and he grinned.

"How's your … umm … your leg?" he asked, now disconcerted.

"It's feeling much better, thank you."

"Good!" He motioned so that when he turned his head to speak low into Gaila's ear it wouldn't be so noticeable. He apparently thought the Jacuzzi's humming and bubbling would interfere with Commander Spock's superior hearing. (But maybe the commander was distracted already.) "I'm gonna take off – I'll be just down the passageway. Follow me in a little while, okay? Discretion's the name of the game." He cleared his throat, looking at the others, and said, "Well, I've gotta get moving. A captain's work is never done."

Commander Spock and Doctor McCoy each raised an eyebrow and Gaila worked very hard not to laugh. She could keep a pretty straight face when necessary. "'Bye Jim!" she said. He nodded, smiling.

"See you around."

He went in to shower and change and after a bit Gaila saw him emerge. She was happy he was wearing the light turquoise sweater. It made his eyes gorgeous – well, more gorgeous than usual. Gold was not his color. Except that it was the command color, so he was stuck with it.

Gaila was quite sure he didn't mind that.

**_Interesting,_** Uhura thought. Water's not having the usual sort of astringent effect on my secretions tonight ... agghhh – keep a straight face – don't sigh, don't sigh!

She remembered the little bottle by the foot of the bed and Spock sipping from it, then going down on her and releasing its delicious, tingling smoothness onto her labia. And she thought a little farther, because by entering her briefly, he'd applied it to his _lok_ as well ….

Reaching over – discreetly of course – Uhura moved her hand over his loins, puffing water onto his sex with her cupped hand. Repeatedly. Then she very slowly reached into his waistband.

"**My leg feels** so much better!" Gaila exclaimed, lifting it up and massaging it down to her ankle just to make sure. She had great flexibility, and her ankle and a little bit of calf emerged straight up from the hot water as she did so. Two pairs of eyes aimed in her direction. She had never thought Commander Spock would be susceptible in this way to her female charms, but he was off duty. Or he might be assessing her scientifically. Who knew? Dr. McCoy wore a slight, appreciative smile. His eyes had the nicest glimmer of humor.

Belatedly Uhura turned her eyes in Gaila's direction, and said, "You had a cramp? Mmm … uh, forgot your warm-ups huh?"

"Yeah, I did," said Gaila, but she could tell Yo wasn't really following her reply. Her friend looked quite distracted, actually, and a tiny bit regretful, as if she was being rude by not attending to her words. Gaila wanted to laugh; Uhura had better things to think about!

"It's been nice to be with you," she said to everyone, "but I need to get back to my quarters and review some computer specs before I go to sleep."

Commander Spock raised an eyebrow.

Oops. If he asked which ones, she'd have to make something up. But he didn't, oddly for him, and just looked at her, his left eye doing something at the outer corner. If he'd been human it would've been the beginning of a smile. She bounced up out of the tub, making a few waves, but nothing she needed to apologize for, and departed for the sonic shower booth. It cleaned and dried her costume and drippy hair as well as her body. She donned her shimmery skirt and cloak and left the Fitness Suite.

Jim was standing a little farther down the passageway; he was at one of the central computer terminals, doing something official-looking, and she came up behind him as if seeing him by chance. Some ensigns were down the way discussing which was better, phasers or disruptors. There was one holdout for disruptors.

"Good evening, Captain," Gaila said formally, but wearing a smile that said she wasn't subordinate just now.

"Hi – er, good evening, Lieutenant," Jim replied. "Hmm, I've been meaning to ask you about the new subroutine on the command link to Engineering …"

"Well, it's detailed here," she answered, hitting a few touchkeys on the terminal to reveal a holoschematic. "There you go, see? You can connect and when you touch these buttons in the armrest – there are several patterns you can use – you can ask one of the engineers simple questions without saying a word. In case of awkward situations with outside entities."

"Very good," Kirk said. Then, head bent as if examining the screen's demonstration of which buttons meant what, he whispered, "I'll meet you at your door in a couple of minutes."

"Why not walk with me?" she whispered. "We can talk work until we get there. Then you can—er, yes, Captain, you just do this, see, and the helm will answer in emergencies."

"Ah, I didn't know you hooked that up too," he said, watching three crewmembers pass by, talking Academy vs. Berkeley football league stats. They met the ensigns and all continued down the passageway together, making plans to gather later for drinks.

"We _didn't_, not yet anyway," Gaila whispered. "That part's coming after Scotty fine-tunes it, geeze …. Okay … let's walk and talk, then you can meet me back at my quarters a couple of minutes later. If anybody asks, say you forgot to ask me something. You're not very good at this, Jim. You amaze me."

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Well, at the Academy I was usually able to ask for company outright," he murmured, turning to leave. "Let's go."

**Nyota watched** Spock's nearly impassive face, and could swear that his eyes were twinkling.

After a few more minutes, he removed his fingers from that deliciously ticklish spot, and buttoned shut the seam of her swimsuit, then moved her hand off his leg – discreetly, of course. He took a moment to … compose himself, looked at her, and said, "I believe it's time we left."

"Mmm, it was long week today," Uhura joked, smiling at McCoy and Chapel, neither of whom looked as if they believed she was weary, but were going along with her pretense.

"Felt just the same in Sickbay," McCoy said, and as Spock and Uhura stood to wade over to the steps, he said, "Y'all have a good night."

McCoy turned to Chapel as Spock and Uhura made their way to the sonics booth to dry off. "If Uhura's going back to her quarters alone, I'll give Scotty a whole _bottle_ of single malt," he muttered, the corners of his mouth upturned.

"Where she's going is not important," Christine returned quietly, eyes twinkling. "But I'm quite sure she's not going to be alone."

Len stretched beside her, putting both arms along the upper ledge of the hot tub, one conveniently stretched behind Christine.

"Golly," she smirked playfully, looking over her shoulder at his arm behind her. "Are you gonna try to get to first base? The holoflicks are no place to make out. People might _see_ us."

"Maybe second base, if you're willing," he grinned, then, going along with her pretense that they were teenagers at the movies, looked at her earnestly.

She put her head back and laughed quietly. "Oh, Leonard McCoy, you are a _mess_." It was an affectionate Southern rejoinder, one they both understood well, he being from Georgia and she, Virginia.

"Apparently a mess you like," he replied, touching her chin with a stroke of his fingertip.

She gazed into his eyes and whispered, "Yeah, I do."


	3. Chapter 3

Hot Tubs: Slow Tease Part III

Part III

**Spock escorted Uhura **to the Observation Deck, to one of the small rooms that had a view of the stars. There, with a view out to space, was a hot tub.

"This was your plan all along!" Nyota said.

Spock raised his eyebrows insouciantly. "I merely availed myself of the options available to an Executive Officer. I thought it appropriate to procure a second whirlpool for our efficient and dedicated personnel."

"This was the mysterious item on the last Procurement – Scotty wasn't sure he could find the proper place for it!"

"I set aside this space before requesting the item. Mr. Scott was charged with supplying the water. We are the first to use it." He paused, and touched Uhura's face with his fingertips. She shivered delightedly.

Moving to stand with his back to the viewport he removed his clothes, then leaned in to her. "As regards our original tryst, Nyota … Let us continue where we left off." He unbuttoned her dress, slipping it off, letting it fall. She made as if to pick it up, and he stilled her motion, gently holding her arms. "It will not wrinkle." He stood so that she had a view of him and the stars.

**Uhura almost wanted** to rush into lovemaking – Spock had been working her up all evening – but over time, he had become a masterful lover, and she knew that allowing him to exercise his accumulated knowledge was always satisfying. He usually read her moods and they sometimes indulged in furious, speedy sex, but the slow and steady increase of her desire, and its thrilling fulfillment, was his specialty, and seemed to bring him equal pleasure. As he had told her once, "I am a scientist, Nyota, and my forte is research." He was outdoing himself tonight.

He slipped one strap of her swimsuit off, then the other, and nuzzled and lightly nipped her collarbones. Slowly he lowered the front, softly kissing and licking the hollow of her throat, the top of each breast, slipping the neckline of the suit down until it caught on her stiffened nipples; he tongued each one, the edge of the material sliding off and dropping to her waist.

He lingered over the tips of her breasts, nipping, laving, and trailed the tip of his tongue down her front, crouching to slip her suit down to her ankles. Stepping out of it, Nyota moved her feet apart, and he licked the inside of her left leg while sliding his fingers up the inside of her right. As he got to her loins he extended his fingers over her pubis, ruffling the hair, then curled a finger over the slippery folds nestled within. He nosed the left crease at the top of her leg and moved the tip of his tongue inward toward her center, while he stroked with his fingers and slipped two of them inside her. First the tip of his nose slipped over, then his lips kissed, her inner labia, and he circled his tongue round her clitoris in circles, working his fingers inside her, curling toward her front, straightening, thrusting around her cervix until her knees trembled. He had aroused her bit by bit throughout the evening; her lower abdomen was singing with blood and her clit was throbbing madly, but she had not … yet … reached a climax.

He rose, and curving his hands under her buttocks, lifted her onto him, his back facing the viewport. Her legs wrapped around his hips, folding behind his ass, and her arms slid around his neck; his upper back pressed against the transparent steel – she was facing the stars as she felt him slowly press the tip of his _lok_ into her. He proceeded very slowly, and when his corona bumped through her entrance he pulled out enough to bump through, again and again; then he plunged deep, hitting her cervix just firmly enough so she felt the motion of him through all her center, and he did it several more times.

He lifted her and pulled out – she moaned with disappointment – he entered slowly again, this time slipping one hand farther around her backside, freeing up the other to slip over her hip and down to her mound. His fingers strategically occupied her inner labia and two fingertips slid over the nub there – her breath hitched as her insides throbbed – she gasped as he thrust deep inside over and over until her center pulsed around him and she cried out, tears blurring the stars over him; she, who spoke so many languages, now clearly signaled her love and surrender without words.

The purr in Spock's chest reached his throat; he turned his face to kiss her mouth, her cheeks, the tears; his eyes opened, dark with fathomless love, and she sighed as he broke the kiss to move his mouth to the hollow of her throat, and then to her ear. He whispered ardently, raspingly in Vulcan and he was pumping more quickly into her – she pulled away and popped off of him – his eyes flared and he moved his hands to reposition her. She shook her head, eyes crinkling in a challenging smile, dropping her feet to the floor and crouching to put her hands to his hips. The blood was beating rapidly in the veins of his jutting, green-gleaming _lok_, which lifted a tiny bit as she stroked his loins with her teasing, long fingers, combing her fingertips through his thick, black bush, then cupping his scrotum with gentle pressure, releasing then rounding her hand on each testicle, rolling slightly, as she squatted, parted her lips and, holding the thick base of his member, squeezed the underside mid-stem with light pressure, took the tip of his _lok_ in her mouth (he grunted, breathing raggedly), firmly tonguing the frenulum and circling the corona, reaching around with her hands now to run her nails down his legs to the backs of his knees, horizontally across the crease, fanning out her fingers to trace his calf muscles, his ankles, the tops of his feet, and (her mouth engulfed his _lok_) going all the way back up, this time smoothing with her palms to his perfect ass, holding the rounded muscles in her hands and kneading, running her nails over it and around to the creases at his legs, then down the fronts of his thighs, which trembled.

A loud purr, almost a growl, issued from deep in his throat as she again took him deeper into her mouth, her tongue muscling then tipping around his length. She opened her throat to accommodate him and his knees bent a little and he put his hands at the sides of her face, and touched his fingers to her psi points; she very nearly came again when he made contact, for she felt the sensations she was imparting to him.

She pulled off him – the link was a little too intense – and her mind subsided along with her nerves, and she looked up. His eyes were closed but they opened and focused on hers and his overwhelming unfulfilled desire made her body shake.

**Gaila turned to Jim** when the door of her quarters shut behind them. "That was a really fun date. I enjoyed dancing for you – you are so appreciative! – and the hot tub felt so good." She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, her red curls shining. Her hair smelled great, like a breeze in Spring. As she looked up Kirk appreciated her beauty – her lovely green face, her blue eyes lighting up now as she gave him a great big smile. He gathered her into his arms and soundly kissed her mouth; the tip of her tongue emerged to circle the insides of his lips. His eyebrows flew up – he'd forgotten how talented Gaila was even with a kiss – and then, thoughts racing, he chastised himself for thinking of her as "talented" at sex, like, because she was Orion, she should be one of the galaxy's foremost experts.

Somehow she'd enjoyed "sleeping with" him at the Academy, in spite of the fact that she'd been a slave to the carnal desires of men from all over the quadrant since her sexual maturity … and he had callously used her that last time, just so he could beat Spock's _Kobayashi Maru_ test, the no-win scenario he didn't believe in … but Gaila hadn't won out on that deal, had she. She'd been screwed in more ways than one.

He swallowed with shame, and broke off the kiss.

"What," she said, frowning at him a little.

"I, I had a great time too, Gaila. I'd like to go out on another date with you, if you're willing, sometime."

Her frown became one of puzzlement. "What?"

"A date. Another date, like tonight. We have to be really discreet; the rest of the crew can't know. They might start to resent one or both of us. It's really important that that not happen."

She nodded, her face changing to a more neutral expression. "I get that, Jim, I really do. I'm _sexy_, not stupid."

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to imply …. So …" Smiling, he reached out a hand, then, leaning forward, gently touched her jaw, giving her a tender kiss on the forehead. "Until next time, Gaila." He smiled, turning to leave.

He felt her hand grasp his wrist. "Jim, you _wait!_ … you're not going anywhere."

**As the steam wafted **around them McCoy bent his head to kiss Christine's cheek. She kind of ducked, and put her hand to his chin, and said, "Hang on a minute, Len."

He backed off with a rueful smile. "You're right. We need to talk about it."

"Yes, we do," she said, looking at him very seriously. "Come on, let's get our sonic showers and go for a drink, all right?"

"Sure." He stood up, and offered her a hand.

Gracefully she rose, like Botticelli's Venus, except with a bathing suit and wearing her hair up. But she had the same shade of lovely titian hair, and McCoy appreciated Christine's body, curvier than the slender Venus.

She paused, giving him a certain look. "All right, you. Behave yourself."

He guided her over to the steps, standing behind her as she exited the Jacuzzi. _Mmm, mmm – MMm_, he thought. "Behave well, or badly?"

She reached the top, stepping onto the ledge, and cut her eyes at him.

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands in surrender, following her out. "I'll rein myself in."

As they headed toward the changing rooms he almost missed a step. Where had that nasty scar toward the back of her neck come from? It was deep and hadn't been dermaplased … he had no idea why not. How had she been injured?

**In the bar **toward the bow of the ship, they settled at a table. Christine looked out toward the stars as McCoy ordered drinks, bourbon for him, single malt whisky for her. "Rocks or up?"

"Rocks please." The server stepped away to get their drinks from the bar. "Isn't that silly," she said in a low voice. "We could have a processor at each table."

"Nah, it's tradition," McCoy said, pulling at the collar of his turtleneck. "Starting with the midshipmen serving the officers at the Captain's Table in the Royal Navy. I read it in a book."

"You still read real books," she smiled.

"Yep. Got all my medical stuff in two Padds – one's for backup – but sometimes I like holding a book and turnin' the pages. What can I say, I'm an old-fashioned guy ... mostly." He grinned. "Hmph - Medical books'd take up too much space and weigh a ton."

"Especially if they covered all the races of the Federation! Imagine!"

"Yeah ..."

Their drinks arrived; they clinked glasses and sipped. "My mom and dad had some old medical texts – they filled a wall in their study," McCoy said. "I was amazed when I read about early physicians – not to be confused with _surgeons_, mind you – medicine in the nineteenth century was still based on the Humors, from two thousand years earlier ..."

"What … oh wait, I'm beginning to remember … the Four Humors, and prescribing to 'balance' the humors … bilious and sanguine and …?"

"The Hippocratic corpus proposed that a sick person had an excess of Black bile, yellow bile, blood or phlegm," Len widened his eyes on the last one. "Too much of one made for a depletion of the others." Christine's eyes were crinkling up at the corners; either she was amused by him expounding to her, or she was remembering her Early Medical Science course too. "By the nineteenth century they were associated with personality too, in that one personality tended to have an excess of a humor …"

She raised a finger. "The melancholic person, the choleric, the phlegmatic, and the sanguine—!"

"… that'd be Jim, sanguine." McCoy raised his glass, eyes twinkling. "Even later, though … say, twenty-first century medical science? Glad I didn't live then either. No plasma sutures, no bone knitters or dermaplasers. Needles and surgical thread and immobilizing casts and whatnot. I can use em' if I have to …." He shuddered. "And the diagnostics, Christ, what a guessing game."

"You still have to rely on physical contact sometimes, and medical intuition."

"Yeah – bioscanners can't do it all. 'Course we were trained at the Academy to rough it where necessary … you were too weren't you?"

Chapel nodded. All medical professionals were. Compounding natural cures and recognizing or testing for medicinal herbs … suturing without a dermaplaser … setting bones and splinting broken limbs ….

"But I'm modern when it comes to doing the best medicine." At her look, he amended, "except when it comes to Gnallifian Intestinal Worms."

Her mouth curved. "I suppose in that case, you're content to let the patients rough it."

He snorted. "They asked for it."

"Len, they did not!"

"They ignored a direct order from their CMO. Should I coddle 'em so they just go out and do it all over again?"

"I don't agree that you'd be 'coddling' them," she sighed, sipping her whisky and rolling it on her tongue to savor its mellow taste.

"You won't always agree with every decision I make in Sickbay," said McCoy, and swallowed some more bourbon. Their eyes met and she wiggled her head a little, an if-you-say-so gesture. He let the moment stretch out. The silence was fairly comfortable, and he hated to break it with a possibly intrusive question. But … "I noticed a hell of a scar on your trapezius. Want me to dermaplase it for you? I do pretty good work."

Her eyes slid away. "I'm keeping the scar. It's a memento."

He arched his eyebrow. She didn't continue, so he said, "Of …?"

"It's to remind me of how fortunate I am. I'm a survivor of the earthquakes and tsunami on Mokkad IV."

"Oh, Christine, no." He watched her.

She sipped her drink and sighed. "I'll start at the beginning. The planetary government had to call us to help the people of Maiap Island. It's the largest land mass in the Mok Sea." She took a swallow of whisky this time. "Maiap Island had the worst earthquake the in the planet's recorded history. The planetary government didn't have the funds necessary to help."

"The government almost failed, didn't it, after the war with Mokkad V?"

"Yes. That really limited their ability to respond to planetary emergencies. They couldn't even supply or get their aid ships off the ground. By the time we arrived, it'd been a couple of days, and so many people had been badly injured in the quake, about seventy percent Maiap's population. The medical facilities were destroyed and medicines weren't recoverable. So infections set in …."

McCoy shook his head, looking grim. Sepsis and death, things he didn't often have to deal with. At least sepsis anyway.

"We set up several temporary hospitals around the island. Two days after we started treating patients, came another quake – higher magnitude. We hurried to move inland, but it wasn't far enough. When the tsunami hit it smashed everything within nine kilometers of shore. We … we lost … most of our patients." Her eyes echoed shock and sorrow. "It was a roar. It was incredible, at first – I looked up and a huge wave was heading for the island. The sun was shining off it, it was beautiful … it was hard to realize just how big it was. I was treating a five-year-old girl and her twin brother at the time. I picked her up and grabbed his hand to run for dear life, but he panicked – snatched his hand away and ran off – and was w-washed away. We found him three days later …" Christine closed her eyes and paused. "Keilau and I smashed up against a tree and somehow we managed to hold on.

"The scar is from an uprooted tree that splintered – it hit me like a piece of shrapnel."

"If it'd gone through it would've hit your subclavian artery. Jesus Christ."

"Hazardous duty. Just like Starfleet," she smiled bitterly. "Anyway, Tadeu Lins, one of the surgeons, found us late on the day after the water receded. I was already delirious. Keilau was devastated about her brother, but she was so brave ... with a newly-knitted bone and fresh injuries from the wave … she still managed to keep me hanging on." She was looking at her glass as she swirled the whisky. It was almost gone; McCoy signaled the server for two more. She went on, "Tadeu saved us. He and I were very close after that, for the rest of our time on the _Bernard Kouchner_, on the missions."

McCoy shut his eyes. He didn't like to imagine Christine with other men, but he knew it happened in the field, in life-and-death situations, and he'd had no claim on her since their time at Berkeley. While he was at the Academy, she'd been planetside only occasionally. He and Christine had connected a few times, but it was more friendly than romantic … except on his side, maybe. He put his hand on hers, and said, "I know how it is. You and I, well …." He sighed, patting her hand. "Guess I guessed wrong tonight, huh."

The server very quietly set their drinks down, taking McCoy's empty glass, and discreetly slipped away, sensitive to the atmosphere around his customers.

Chapel drained her first whisky, setting aside the glass, and looked up at him, and her blue eyes reminded him of the first time he'd seen her. She had always been wise, he realized suddenly. "I wouldn't say that at all, Len." She took his hand in hers. "Tadeu and I were close for a while, but we went our separate ways. After Vulcan was …. after that … I reactivated in Starfleet."

McCoy had tried to forget those hours after their first confrontation with Nero. He steadied himself by keeping his eyes on Christine. Little expressions were crossing her face. Sadness, anger, regrets, then a softness.

She put down her glass and reached out to touch his hands, clenched on the tabletop. "No. No, you didn't guess wrong." Her voice was as soft as her gaze when he met her eyes. "I just remember ... I remember how much I hurt you, when I first joined Médecins sans Frontières … and I think you still—"

"You didn't hurt me on purpose. You weren't going on mercy missions to put me off, for Chrissake." His eyes shifted from her face to the view beyond the plasteel window.

"I know. But after you got to the Academy we could only grab a weekend or two, because I was away so much…."

He quirked his mouth. "So that was entirely your fault, huh? Going out to help the populations of devastated planets?"

"No, but going on the missions was my choice, and I wonder if I was right to keep … stringing you along."

"… Oh. I get it." He shrugged. "If we're over, we're over, darlin' and well, that's just the way it is, id'n it." His voice came out rough.

She tilted her head back a little, sighed, and looked outward, past their past, past his hurt, past her own disappointment. "Len, please. You just jumped to a conclusion."

His jaw was tense and he consciously had to unclench his teeth. _Christ, maybe you should go back to the Jacuzzi and mellow your mood, Doctor. _"Did I now."

"_Leonard_," she said. "I mean it. Listen to me. We are not 'over'."

He wanted to slam his glass down, but injected humor he did not feel into his voice. "Don't be so sure, Christine. I'm not sure you should stick with a guy like me. Because except for practicin' medicine … I feel like every goddam thing I've ever done has turned bad. Starting with my marriage, my ..." He blew out a breath and his voice was hoarse when he resumed. "You don't deserve a share in my damned bad luck. I don't wanna feel guilty anymore. I screwed up my marriage, I screwed up Spock's career—"

"_What _did you just say?"her expression was incredulous.

"I smuggled Jim Kirk aboard this ship—"

"I heard! And from what I _also_ heard, he and Spock saved the quadrant from certain destruction by that … madman. Remember _that?_ So you screwed up Spock's career _how?"_ Her eyes flashed. "Jesus, talk about grandiosity. How can you be so … so …" Her eyes filled with tears. "Leonard McCoy, sometimes you are one of the stupidest men I have ever known. You have a beautiful daughter, yes, from a terrible marriage, but was the divorce entirely your fault? No. Joycelyn was insecure, selfish and just plain grabby when it came to your property. But you blame yourself. If you're going to keep on like that, I guess we don't have a snowball's chance in a hot place, do we."

He hunched his shoulders up and looked out at the blurry stars to keep her from seeing how red his eyes must be. "Jesus, Christine, I'm sorry. I – I forgive you, if that's what you were askin', of course I do. I just … I was just watchin' Spock and Uhura tonight and thinkin', boy, wouldn't it be great to have a nice, uncomplicated relationship like theirs. They admire each other, you can tell. And she loves him to pieces – don't know why. She practically dances around the passageways."

Christine sipped her drink, gazing at him. "You know their relationship isn't simple. No relationship is. Imagine what they have to deal with. His planet and most of his people were destroyed. He's been through a … a holocaust. Sometimes I imagine she has to hold him together."

"That Vulcan? I doubt it. In fact, I don't know what she sees in him – he's got ice water in his veins." McCoy tossed off the rest of his drink and raised two fingers to the server.

"Is that what you really think, Len? Are you _prejudiced_ against him?"

He sighed. "No," he admitted. "He just gets on my nerves. Always _right,_ always rational. And Uhura's his opposite – a ray of light. Guess I envy him."

"You envy a man who has lost his home and his people. Really?" She gave him a penetrating look. "I think you envy Spock because you think he's not as sensitive as you are. I think _you_ think he's unassailable, that his love with Uhura and his intelligence and cool demeanor are all there is to him."

"They_ aren't? _You're saying he's _sensitive?"_

She studied him.

He waved a hand. "I'm kidding. He doesn't show it. Well, except for that time he almost choked Jim to death. Not that Jim didn't deserve a good ass-whippin'."

"You don't show it either. You hold your tension inside, you explode at people, and you're downright nasty sometimes. I know you're temperamental – I can be, too – but … I think sometimes you're hurting yourself."

"Oh, hell, Christine …." He blew out a breath. "I'm a piece of work, huh." He looked up as the server arrived and nodded his thanks, grateful for the momentary diversion.

"Sometimes I wonder how you passed your Starfleet psych evals," she said, a gentle joke.

He rolled his eyes. "It's pretty easy if you know what the answers are supposed to be." He swallowed some bourbon and looked ruefully at Christine. "There're days … bitterness just seems logical, pardon the expression."

"Is this about losing Marquez on Thule Four….?"

"No," Len said forcefully. "She died because of a disruptor shot. Not my fault and I know it. I did everything I could. I feel sad about her loss, and I hated having to tell her partner … but the loss of life in Starfleet ops is a reality I can accept. I hate it, but eventually I accept it." He paused, looking distant; she let him gather his thoughts. "What I can't accept is all the stupid regrets I still feel about my life. And after so many Vulcan people died … that day … my regrets seem damned selfish, but I can't seem to accept the way I've lived…."

Her soft fingertips settled on the back of his hand, stroked once. She curled her hand around his.

"Vulcan children don't cry, did you know that?" He looked up, partly to swallow and stop his eyes from watering, partly to distract himself from the imminent tears.

The silence. Where he expected to hear sobbing, crying, bawling and screaming he saw solemn faces, children in a room with the few surviving mobile Vulcan adults, moving among them, administering a care McCoy could not. Adult fingers joining with children's in a gesture he'd seen Spock and Uhura make when they thought no one was looking, that cross thing they did with the first two fingers of the hand. How the dark eyes of the children stopped penetrating the depths of sorrow and became a little bit peaceful. With the really young children, kneeling before them, reaching to touch the sides of their faces, stilling their silent trembling with a few moments of touch.

It was on the edge of creepy, he remembered thinking. But he knew, for touch telepaths, the Vulcans' behavior was probably like that of the human adults of his own childhood cradling him and crooning to let him know it would be all right after Nana died, someday it would be all right.

How quiet the children and adults were as he treated them, some with severe injuries. They didn't groan or cry out; the stoic expression would sometimes waver, but that was it. They welcomed healing touches, though, there was gratitude in those deep eyes.

Their eyes seemed almost all-seeing sometimes; that was part of the reason Spock got on his nerves, like, _I see you, I know your faults, I accept you as a fellow being nonetheless._

The _devastation_. Only after McCoy's frantic hours in Sickbay, did Kirk come down to his office and pull up the record of Vulcan's destruction for him to see. McCoy had clenched his arms around his middle, watching, the rage and pain in his gut wanted to explode in fury. Senseless, senseless waste, countless lives, peaceful people who'd brought more helpful technology to the Federation than any other civilization ….

There was a Vulcan healer, thank God, among his patients, and when she'd gotten herself patched up she helped him triage the adults. The children who were not physically traumatized were sent to the silent room. McCoy made as if to question her about this; she quelled him with a glance, albeit a compassionate sort of quelling glance, saying, "It is best for us at such a time. The older children will lead those younger in meditation and when all have had a healing touch, the group will meditate and find solidarity."

Christine held his hand as he told her all this.

"After the crisis with Nero was over, and we started limping home, we distracted the kids with … with education." He smiled a little and shook his head. "That's Vulcan kids for ya. Uhura practiced languages with them and taught them new ones … Spock meditated with them or took them to the Science labs. Ones who were interested, I took around Sickbay and let them watch me do some doctoring … with patients' permission, of course … Sarek sat with all of them; he and the elders convened a big gathering and they just meditated, I guess … that was in the Shuttle Bay. At least that many Vulcans got to the Enterprise anyway."

"I've heard there were many Vulcans working and living off-world … and that thousands managed to launch from Vulcan in time and weren't spotted by … by that insane Romulan." Chapel looked at McCoy. "Tell me what else people did. It's nice to hear."

"Let's see. Chekov and Sulu spent hours with them doing advanced math and sciences … even Chekov learned some things! Scotty and Keenser took some kids to Engineering so they could watch the engineers make repairs. The Vulcans who were healed and had training we could use, just pitched in for the … crew we lost. Jim showed 'em around the ship, mostly. He was pretty busy anyway and he told me – 'they're awfully bright – and I'm supposedly a genius, Bones! – they're really, really bright.' I think what it really was … was that all their suppressed emotions really got to him."

"He's quite a compassionate man, isn't he, once you get past that humor and bravado."

"Bravado – that's Jim's fallback position." McCoy shook his head ruefully. "What a friend to have in the Academy!"

"I remember him," Christine smiled. "Quite the charmer, when he wasn't putting his moves on me. And I suppose you were getting him out of fights, off the floors of barrooms and out of the women's dormitories … what a character!"

"Had some of the best grades of any cadet, though. When Jim puts his mind to it he soaks up knowledge like a sponge. Lots of guys were jealous of him – he didn't have to study much and had lots of time to date."

Chapel laughed. He loved that throaty alto sound, and remembered when she used to get the giggles ….

He took a bracing gulp of bourbon and met her eyes. He said quietly, "I'm terrified about half the time since you got here that somethin' bad's gonna happen to you, just because …" He shut his eyes and inhaled. "I still love you, I'm crazy in love with you."

"Len …"

He met her eyes, frowning a little.

"Life's terribly short. I don't want to waste time worrying any more, do you?"

His face gradually broke into a smile as he worked out what she meant. "No, darlin'." He squeezed her hands gently. "I guess I don't."

**Spock swept Nyota up** into his arms in a smooth motion; sometimes she forgot how strong he was, because he always kept control, holding and touching her with great care, holding back his power so as not to hurt her. At times she found herself fearing the madness of which he had told her, _Pon farr_ – he'd said it would make him forget to be gentle – but she knew that, even with their occasionally tenuous bond, somehow they would get through it. Perhaps he might even find a way to lessen the effects of the blood fever on himself, to keep her safe.

With impeccable balance and grace, he mounted the stairs to the small platform surrounding the hot tub and stepped in, holding her, sinking in gradually, releasing her legs so her feet touched bottom.

He sat and pulled her to him, her back to his chest, cupping his large hands over her breasts, rubbing them lightly. The water gave this movement friction and she shivered with a resurgent desire.

_How is it that I never tire of you, habibu? Never._ "I love you so much," she said, reaching up and back to finger the tip of his ear. "My Spock."

"Nyota," he whispered in her ear, and the heat of his face and breath and the vibrations of his voice filled her with overflowing love.

She started to turn in his arms, he lifted her onto his lap, adjusted himself slightly, and he was in her. She turned her face as far as she could to his and he kissed her jaw, her cheek, and his hands slipped over her torso, down to her sex and up to her breasts as his fingers teased their peaks; his warm breath tickled her ear as he whispered Vulcan endearments to her … she responded in kind, and reveled in the tiny sounds of his lips as he gently kissed her ear and neck … she felt his muscled torso at her back, his pubic bone against her rear, her womanhood was pulsing and pounding as his hardness slipped deeper inside; it made her breathless and shaky, and after a while he began to shudder and his breath came short, and along with her he began to come; she heard him breathe out, "Hunnh … " and he gripped her hips hard, putting his face to her shoulder, sighing explosively as he grew larger inside and pumped, pulsed, one … two … "AhnnH …!" And as he orgasmed so did she, so perfect were they together. So, so, perfect.

She raised her face to what used to be heaven long before she knew him, what was now gas giants and red dwarf stars, quasars and nebulae, miracles of a different kind, and as his arms stilled to wrap around her she smiled with all of herself.

**After a while **he emerged** from the water,** leaving the hot tub for the relatively cool air of the room, and extended a hand to steady her as she got out. She looked at him with gratitude; though she got out with nearly her usual feline grace he could see that her legs were still trembling, even though she had sat with him in the hot water for a while … after.

She stood before him, smoothing his wet chest hair, then slipping her arms around him, pulled his torso firmly against hers, and nestled her face into his shoulder. "Mmm," she said. "I'm getting chilly."

"I can warm you."

He tightened the circle of his arms, molding his body full length along hers, and they looked out at the stars and she was almost warm enough, but he felt the soft skin of her back pebbling with cold, despite his hands rubbing up and down in long, heated strokes.

Looking down into her lovely eyes, he excused himself. "A moment," he said, and left her briefly. He set the environmental controls for warmer air, and brought her a robe and helped her put it on, but he did not let her tie it; he resumed his position along her front, his arms wrapped around her waist inside her robe, and they stood together for a long time.

"I had fun at the hot tub in the Gym suite – it was delicious and rather devilish of you," she said after a while, gazing up at him and stroking his collarbone. "And your … slippery invention helped make me much more comfortable in the water, and was _such_ a pleasure to put on!" She grinned at him. "But this–" she gestured to the room – "this was … just … incredible. Thank you."

"I assumed you might like more privacy for our union."

"So you planned all this. Oh, Spock." She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed his face tenderly. His eyes closed with pleasure, with gratitude for her very being. "And here I thought we were going to be in the big Jacuzzi belowdecks all night, waiting for the other folks to leave."

He held her close, kissed her mouth, and murmured into her ear.

"It was logical to cultivate other options."

The End …

**_Thanks for reading_****_!_** Remember, if I know what you like about the story, I can do some more things like that. Comments with specifics are quite encouraging!

**Glossary**

Ashayam: darling (Vulcan)

Attending: a physician licensed to practice independently who supervises Resident doctors as they earn their accreditation

Bone knitter: Medical, a sometimes painful means of healing breaks in bones. Works with molecular transporter technology. McCoy would probably jab you with a painkiller first.

Bow: ship's front, in the Enterprise's case, the leading edge of the saucer section

Decoction: A liquid derived by boiling and steeping certain herbs or healing plants

Glaikit: Crazy (Scottish)

Gig: v. assign demerits; n. a demerit

Habibu: darling (Swahili)

Lok: male member (Vulcan)

Overhead: ship's ceiling

Passageway: hall on a ship

Passed Over: not considered for promotion

Shite: it's worse than shit (Scottish)

Skin plaser: Medical, a molecular-level way to suture or seal injured skin, from the inner layers out to the skin's surface.

Watches: security details, training details, or other duties performed in regular rotation

Moral: Never eat from street vendor carts, at least if you travel to Gnallifi.

… And when "shite happens" in your life, know that you will regain your equilibrium over time, especially if you have good people around you. You are worthy of them.

**_Enterprise Locations_**

Fitness Suite: The designated area for dance and yoga and martial arts, working out with weights, a hot tub, and a sauna, and sonic showers to clean and dry you at the same time. (I want this at my public pool!)

Observation Deck: (as I imagine it) A large space on one deck at the bow devoted to recreation, private recreation, cozy bars and a variety of small restaurants, to help the crew keep sane and remind themselves of why they're out there in a starship – by viewing the stars. Sectioned according to function, there are tiny rooms for meditation, stargazing, coupling, whatever your pleasure. Larger rooms are "common spaces" the crew can enjoy together, for gatherings, parties, dinners and concerts or other performances. Restaurants are about five to ten tables in a room with a large viewport for, well, dining among the stars.

Quarters: (as I imagine them) For senior officers, quarters are a sleeping area, a seating or relaxation area, a viewport and workspace;for junior officers, I imagine a sleeping area separated from a desk, chairs or a small couch for relaxation and a small viewport. Damn it, rank still has its privileges.


End file.
